


Saint Aziraphale and the Oi-Who-Are-You-Calling-A-Dragon

by Ashfae



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Trying To Be a Badass, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Folklore, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Really Very Large Snake Crowley, Roman Empire, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), St. George and the Dragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashfae/pseuds/Ashfae
Summary: While traveling through Cappadocia on his way to Pergamum, Aziraphale happens across a maiden in distress who begs him to slay the dragon besieging her home. What self-respecting angel could refuse such a noble task?But dragons and rescues aren't always what they seem...Written for the SFW Get a Wiggle On Zine. =)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 87
Collections: Get A Wiggle On Zine





	Saint Aziraphale and the Oi-Who-Are-You-Calling-A-Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to **Eithin** , who only a day after I conceived of the idea of this story happened to complain about how in paintings of St. George and the Dragon the dragon was always an overlarge but underintimidating snake and it was very disappointing. Your timing was perfect, my dear. ;) I hope this helps assuage your annoyance somewhat!

The first difficulty with keeping an angelic eye on the Roman Empire, Aziraphale mused, was that there was rather a lot of it. The second was that horses were depressingly common. But third and most inconvenient was that the road was inevitably taken up with _other people_ , who made demands upon one's time, with the result that his leisurely journey to visit the Library of Pergamum was now thoroughly sidetracked.

Though even Aziraphale had to admit that being chained to a rock waiting to be eaten by a dragon counted as extenuating circumstances.

He could have passed on by and ignored all her pleas of _Noble sir, please, save me! Please, or I will die here!_ Or he could have let her go and then not stayed to hear the rest of the story, and continued on his way. But while he might have been immune to the allure of fair maidens in traditional sense, he _was_ an angel. How could he ignore a fervent prayer for assistance? And the story she told had been fascinating. Even...well. Romantic.

_Noble warrior, there is a dragon! A fearsome beast who drips its venom into our waters. We have given it sheep and goats, but nothing appeases its ceaseless hunger; now we offer it ourselves, chosen by lottery, a sacrifice to buy everyone's safety..._

The girl had mistaken him for a soldier, evidently. He did have a short sword, though more for the form of the thing. He wasn't even sure it was sharp. Still, her faith in him had been flattering. And her directions had been very clear: the dragon would come at sunset to claim its prize, and if he was waiting in his place and smote it everything would be hunky-dory. Not in those words, but that was the gist.

(She'd dropped more than a few hints about offering her own personal gratitude as well, but Aziraphale ignored those. Even if he weren't an angel, the poor child was under duress)

Aziraphale swung his sword a little and hummed to himself. It was exciting, really. Usually his preference was to avoid violence, but...he could make an exception just this once. Dashing heroics weren't quite the same as real _fighting_ , after all...

There was a noise, quiet but perceptible. He squared his shoulders and raised his sword and peered at the gap in the rocks curiously. _Like a serpent_ , she'd said, _but of immense size_. She'd held his arm and begged, _Take this girdle of mine for luck; it was enchanted by my mother, and if you cast it over the beast's neck it will be helpless before you--_ But that was human superstitious nonsense, of course, and would hardly be necessary. He'd tucked the long gold rope into his belt to please her, but a sword and a smite should get the job done easily.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "Stand forth and prepare do to battle, dragon!" he shouted, putting a little righteous _oomph_ behind it for effect. Not that he expected the beast to understand, but there were formalities to observe.

"Oi!" There was a long, annoyed hiss. "Who're you calling a dragon?"

Aziraphale blinked.

Slinking between the rocks came the largest serpent he'd ever seen. It was easily ten metres in length, with outsized fangs, a ridge of red feathers running from head to tail, and black scales that seemed to devour light. It would have been fearsome, except that its slit yellow eyes were unexpectedly familiar.

Aziraphale huffed his annoyance, his fighter's stance melting into exasperation. "Crawly, what the devil are you doing here?"

" _Crowley_ , angel, I told you." The great snake lifted up his head a foot or so above Aziraphale's, his long length settling into a coiled pile beneath his upstretched neck. "And I'm not doing the devil here or anywhere, thanksss all the sssame. What the Heaven are you here for? With a ssword? Here to ssssssmite the monsssster?"

Aziraphale flushed and lowered his weapon, resisting the urge to hide it behind his back. He couldn't deny that acid tone was a little warranted, but all the same... "Yes, well, there was this young lady--" Crowley groaned, but Aziraphale continued doggedly, "--and she talked of a dragon _eating_ people! I could hardly let it pass."

"You think I've been eating people." Snakes couldn't roll their eyes, but Crowley gave off a remarkable impression of having done it anyway. "Haven't. Esssspecially not raw. I'd want ssome ssssaucssse at least."

Aziraphale glared at him. "It isn't funny, Crowley! What's going on? Why are you here as a snake?"

Crowley wriggled uncomfortably. At least, Aziraphale assumed it was uncomfortable. It was difficult to read serpentine body language. "...got sstuck."

Aziraphale was taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"

Crowley's forked tongue tasted the air. "I sssaid, I got _ssstuck_."

"That's absurd. You're a demon. How can you possibly get stuck?"

Crowley flicked his tongue into the air again and lowered his head, not answering. Aziraphale sighed and sheathed his sword altogether. "Look, let's at least go somewhere and sit down and talk this out properly."

"Ssssssuits," said Crowley, and slithered off to lead the way.

* * * * * *

The difficult thing about talking to Crowley was he would be as irritating as possible when in the wrong mood. Just now that meant talking, but also poking at Aziraphale's stomach with his tail at any given moment. For the sake of getting information, Aziraphale tried to ignore it. "You've been here for some time, then?"

"Here and there." Crowley shifted in place. "Wasss down in the Parthian Empire for work. Thought I'd head up thiss way after. Got tired, took a nap. Got ssstuck."

His tail thwacked against Aziraphale's stomach, not hard but noticeably. Aziraphale frowned and pushed it away. "Stop that. You took a nap? Looking like that?"

Crowley sighed. "Wasss comfy," he said sounding frustrated. "Don't sssweat in thiss form. S'niccce."

"Yes, but a giant great snake is hardly...unobtrusive."

"Didn't ssstart _out_ thisss size." This time Crowley prodded Aziraphale's back, near his waistline. It was growing extremely tiresome. "Wass ssssmaller. Woke up big. And ssstuck."

This time when the tail lifted to strike him, Aziraphale caught it and held it firmly. "I said, _stop_ that. Even if you are stuck, why are you threatening to eat people--"

" _Haven't_ \--"

"--and terrorizing a city and so on? That's not your usual style. None of this makes sense!" Aziraphale looked stern, giving the demon his best _tell the truth and no more nonsense, foul fiend!_ expression. Not that it ever had much effect on Crowley, but it was worth a try.

Crowley hissed and thrashed a little, trying to get his tail loose. Aziraphale held on with a grip of iron and made an irritated noise. "And _why_ do you keep--"

He paused.

He looked closer.

It was subtle. It was very subtle, probably because it was all wrong. A thread of...magic. Neither divine nor demonic in origin, that was the odd part. No, it was a little demonic, but mostly...not.

Aziraphale let go; Crowley immediately scooted away and curled up, head hidden in his coils. Aziraphale concentrated and looked closer yet. "I see," he said finally, in a completely different tone. "Why didn't you just say so?"

It was probably just as well that snakes, even demonic ones, couldn't growl. "Can't."

"Ah. Hence all that tail-prodding."

"Took you bloody _long enough_ \--"

Aziraphale waved this off. "Yes, well, you can hardly blame me for taking a while to realize. This is most unusual. But who--"

Crowley hissed. His tail whipped out again, but this time the strike was light, landing just above Aziraphale's belt. The angel blinked, then sighed.

"Oh dear. How very disappointing." He pursed his lips. "This will take some thought."

* * * * * *

Sabra was impatient. It was easier than admitting she was worried.

The Roman should have been back by now. Even if he was as foolish as he'd seemed, the task had been straightforward enough. One touch of her girdle would freeze the monster in its tracks, and how difficult could it be to hack its head off while it was helpless? Anyone with a sword could manage that much!

But there was still no sign of him, or any sounds of conflict. True, the monster was as silent as a shadow for all its great size, but still...there should be _something_ by now.

Unless the monster had caught the man by surprise and slain him, swallowed him as it had done with the other girls who lost the lottery. There'd been no signs of slaughter during all this mess; they must have been devoured whole. And if the Roman himself had been eaten...that was a quandary, and Sabra frowned, thinking it over. She didn't think the dragon could digest her girdle, bound to it as it was. Would the spell still work to paralyze it from the inside?

It should have been so simple! That was the frustrating part. Her plan had been far less complicated when she'd bespelled her girdle and gone in search of a creature to enchant for her purposes. The spell should only have increased its size and made it obedient to her commands, giving her a false monster to set upon her targets. She hadn't intended any deaths, merely some strategic injuries...those would be enough to frighten certain rivals, and persuade their parents to certain political ends...and then eventually she would allow the beast to be slain and no one would ever be the wiser. The small dark snake she'd found sleeping by a rock had seemed ideal. But instead it had grown out of all proportion and grown monstrous to boot, and she could only command it to a limited extent, and instead of a little pressure exerted in key places the city was now terrified and offering up its daughters as sacrifices.

How was she to get out of this if the Roman failed? Perhaps she could convince her father to lead the people in search of her presumed rescuer, come the dawn. Everyone was already amazed she'd returned unharmed, they might be amenable...and if they found the dragon lying helpless, surely they would fall on it themselves and put an end to the matter...

Someone screamed.

Then quite a lot of people screamed, and Sabra ran towards the sound, joining half the city at the front gates. She did not scream. She almost fainted.

The Roman stood there, his white tunic still spotless, the fibula pin attaching his wool cloak to his shoulder gleaming in the setting sunlight, his sword still sheathed at his hip. In his hand he held the end of a long golden rope, which was looped easily around the head of the dragon. The dragon's head was lowered and quiescent. The man smiled with the same easy friendliness he'd shown her on the road.

"Hello," the man said brightly. "I understand you've been having some difficulty with this fellow, is that right?"

There were more screams and shouts, and someone laughed hysterically. The Roman's eyes swept over the crowd. Sabra wanted to hide, but stood frozen in place as his eyes landed on her. He lifted an eyebrow and smiled again. Her stomach churned with dread.

Fortunately someone pushed his way through the crowd--a father of one of the girls who lost the lottery--and demanded to know what the idiot Roman was doing, bringing that creature here and endangering them all. The Roman only smiled more broadly. "Oh, well, that charming young lady over there asked if I would be so good as to take care of your little problem for you, and I thought you all might wish to bear witness."

There were howls of fear and dismay, and more than a few men drew their weapons, fear and savagery in their eyes. Sabra's eyes flickered to the serpent, but it still was quiet. Her girdle was around its neck, true, but...and why had the man not simply killed it already, and...

The Roman smiled, and something about that smile was more terrifying than the monster. He flicked the rope in his hands. "There's really no need for all this fuss," he said mildly. "Now, watch closely."

He tugged on the golden rope, and now, _now_ the monstrous snake reacted. It reared up and hissed at the Roman, with jaws gaping wide. Drops of acid fell from its fangs and burned the ground below, but the Roman didn't flinch. He made a complicated gesture with his hands, and shouted, "Begone, foul creature, and trouble these good people no more!"

At the last word he flung out his hand and the dragon roared, flinging its head back. Smoke poured from its mouth into the air until a great cloud covered the area. Dimly, through the haze, Sabra thought she saw the man draw his sword and stab the snake. She heard another roar, and the creature sank to the ground.

No, it sank _into_ the ground, she realized, as the smoke began to clear. The earth swallowed it up, and then it was as though it'd never been.

There was absolute silence.

The Roman tutted to himself, and sheathed his sword, then gathered up the now-empty rope, coiling it. He walked casually towards the crowd, which parted before him, until he stood in front of Sabra, and held out the girdle. Automatically she reached out shaking hands, and he laid the girdle in them. At the touch of the rope she felt her skin crawl all over, felt something paralyzing sink into place inside her soul.

He held her gaze with eyes at odds with his friendly, mild air, eyes that spoke of storms and mysteries. "Thank you for loaning me this, my dear. It was most helpful." He smiled. How could a smile be kind and threatening at the same time? "I trust you will be more cautious in the future with such things. I'll return and check on you now and then, shall I? Just to be certain you're doing well."

Sabra nodded jerkily, her blood running cold in her veins as her fingers closed around the rope.

"Excellent." The Roman beamed and stepped back, once more the jovial fool he'd seemed to be at first, though now Sabra thought she'd never met anyone less foolish. "Excellent. I'll just take my leave, in that case."

He walked back towards the gate and opened it...and through it walked the half-dozen missing girls who had been taken by the dragon. The silence erupted into cheers and sobs of relief and wonder as parents and friends rushed forward to claim their own. Only Sabra stood still and paralyzed, looking down at the golden rope in her hands, with that warning ringing in her ears.

* * * * * *

It was hours later, much further down the road to Pergamum, when Aziraphale decided it was a good time to stop and have a little rest, and perhaps enjoy a late supper. As he was engaged with this task the ground next to him suddenly churned. Aziraphale didn't so much as glance down. "There you are. Would you like some dates?"

Crowley writhed his way out of the dirt, still in the sinuous form of a snake, though less remarkable in appearance now. Only two metres or so long, the feathers and ridiculous outsized fangs now gone, a creature of elegant black and red scales such as Aziraphale remembered from Eden. "No, thanksss."

"Suit yourself." Aziraphale hummed with pleasure as he popped another of the dried fruits into his mouth. "That was a magnificent performance. You were very convincing."

"Weren't ssso bad yoursself, angel." Crowley's form melted back into a shape they were both more familiar with these days. He cricked his neck and stretched his hands out, then blatantly reached down to steal one of Aziraphale's dates despite having just turned them down. "Ugh. Good to have thumbs again. Tails are fantastic but let me tell you, thumbs are really where it's at."

"Mm." Aziraphale eyed him, and made no comment about the purloined dates. "I trust you've learned your lesson about taking naps in inappropriate places?"

"Yeah, check the area for overambitious local witches first." Crowley laid back on the ground.

Aziraphale huffed. "You could say 'thank you', you know."

"Nope. Demon. We don't do thanks." There was a moment of silence. "But I will compliment you on a very nice bit of trickery. Has the girl really lost her magic, or does she just think she has?"

"That would be telling." Crowley looked up at him with a raised eyebrow; Aziraphale smirked right back. "In return, I must compliment you on taking care of all those poor girls who lost the lottery."

"Pffft, no taking care of anything involved. All I did was herd 'em to a cave and keep 'em there until I could foist them back off on their families. Nothing virtuous about it."

"Of course not." Aziraphale stood and stretched. "Well, I do think it's time to be going. The Library of Pergamum won't wait forever."

There was a pause. "Never been to Pergamum," Crowley said, still looking up at the stars above them.

"Oh!" Aziraphale considered. "You really ought to someday. I hear it's quite remarkable." There was another pause. "Seeing as I'm headed in that direction, you could always accompany me. If you liked."

Another pause.

"Yeah, why not." Crowley got to his feet and fired an insouciant grin at the angel. "This is a terrible place to nap anyway."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to **Fyre** for babbling with me about history and geography and wacky ideas, and to **mywingsareonwheels** for general encouragement.
> 
> But thanks above all to everyone in the **Get A Wiggle On** discord. It's not just that you're all a delight (though you manifestly are!), or that being part of the zine was so fun, or that this is the first time I applied for a zine at all and I was intimidated as all hell and you were super kind. Above all, it meant a lot to me to try and make the world a bit better by making art, especially during these bizarre times. Thank you for the opportunity. Wiggle on, you magnificent beings.


End file.
